


we should be lovers instead

by owilde



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Drama, F/F, Flirting, Get Together, Happy Ending, Like very briefly - Freeform, Modern Era, POV Alternating, Pining, Polyamory, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 07:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13676838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: Sansa buried herself deeper into the sofa cushions, thinking about Dany, her freckles and violet eyes and soft voice, and she let Margaery wrap her fingers tighter around her heart and squeeze it dry, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.





	we should be lovers instead

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to publish this in three parts leading up to Valentine's, but....... I didn't. So this is what we ended up with. Soz.
> 
> To anyone reading this - thank you! For doing that! And happy Valentine's Day (or if it's not that anymore, then happy Any Day Possible).

_Part I – or, how she began to fall down_  
_the Rabbit’s hole;_  
_it’s not that she meant to, but sometimes_  
_one takes a misstep and suddenly finds one’s self_  
_in complete dark, alone_  
_and with no way of escaping_

 

Dust had settled on every surface during the night that the café had spent abandoned, locked up and silent, squeezed comfortably between an apartment building and an office space. Sansa stepped inside and flicked the lights on, watching the peach coloured walls blink and flicker to their usual vibrancy. They were filled neatly and symmetrically with black and white photographs of herself and Margaery, of New York, of their childhood homes.

Sansa flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN and made her way behind the counter. She began her usual morning routine of checking through everything and anything necessary, filling tea mixes and cleaning the coffee machines.

The café was something like their own American Dream. It wasn’t being married with two-point-five kids and a white picket fence, but it felt like the same amount of work, effort and responsibility. Sansa couldn’t count with two hands how many sleepless nights she’d spent worrying about the bills, property rights and whether she’d be able to afford both rent and food on that particular week or not.

But it had been, and still was, _their_ dream. Sansa wouldn’t trade it for anything, really.

The café remained forlornly empty. Sansa brushed crumbs off the counter and picked up a rag.

She realised, as she was cleaning the tables, that she’d forgotten to do her make-up that morning before leaving her apartment. She lifted her fingers to her face, gently touching her lashes; light, and free of mascara. Her mouth pulled minutely into a dismayed frown.

Her alarm had rung at 5:30, loud and intruding, piercing through her pleasant dreams. The meadow and the smiling vision of Margaery leaning closer had vanished slowly, like a draining bathtub. Sansa had tried to close her eyes, press them tightly shut, and climb her way back to the picture. But all she’d seen had been a vast darkness staring back at her, and a wrenching feeling of loss in her chest over something that hadn’t even been real.

And so, she’d forgotten to do her make-up.

She’d made her way back behind the counter and was dusting the shelves when the bell attached to the door clinked softly, ringing around the café.

Sansa turned around.

A woman had stepped in and was now standing by the door, glancing around her. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a black blazer, a concise briefcase in her hands. Her pale white hair was made into a convenient braid which rested against her left shoulder, some wisps escaping. Sansa had to squint against the harsh morning sunlight to see her properly, and before she could shield her eyes to take a closer look, the woman began walking towards the counter with long, hesitant strides, her heels clacking against the wooden floor.

She stopped in front of the counter and looked up at the menu sign above her, eyes flickering across it.

“Morning,” Sansa said, trying on the most charming smile she could produce at a little past six. “What can I get you?”

The woman glanced at her and smiled nervously. “Hey,” she breathed out. “Sorry, I’m just—I’ve never been to this place before, so it’s taking me a while to scan this.”

Sansa wasn’t surprised; they weren’t most inconveniently located, falling just by the outskirts of the city centre and out of the reach of most subway stations. Their clientele consisted mostly of hipsters and lost tourists who never knew how much was the appropriate amount of tip to leave, or if it was necessary at all.

“What brings you here now, then?” She asked out of curiosity. “A recommendation, or…?”

The woman looked sheepish. “You were the only café around this block open this early,” she said, crushing Sansa’s budding hopes that their reputation was finally starting to pick up. “I was just going to get Starbucks but it doesn’t open until seven.”

“Ah, well.” Sansa shrugged. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

The woman looked at the menu again, biting her lower lip. “You have a good selection.” She paused. “I think I’ll have the… the seasonal herbal mix?”

She sounded so hesitant that Sansa took pity on her. “The seasonal mix has raspberry, lavender and lemon grass in it,” she told her. “If that sounds like something you’d like.”

The woman shot her a grateful look. Her eyes were an odd colour, almost violet, and framed by long dark lashes. Her painted red lips pulled into a warm smile; Sansa’s heart lurched uncomfortably in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said. “A large one, please.”

Sansa turned around to prepare it with a relieved sigh, her hands going to work almost automatically. “Your name?” She asked out of reflex as she drenched a teabag in hot water.

“Daenerys,” the woman told her. “Just Dany is fine, though.”

“Daenerys,” Sansa repeated quietly. It sounded nice, she thought. Almost like a short, tilting melody. She began writing the name on the side of the cup, but paused halfway through, turning back towards Dany. “I don’t really need to do this, do I?” She asked. “God, I’m sorry, it’s really too early, I’ll just…” She finished writing the name and handed the cup.

A small smile played on Dany’s lips. “It’s fine, I get it. Late Fridays and early Saturdays don’t really mix well, do they?”

“They really don’t,” Sansa agreed. “There’s that dreadful feeling, when you lay your head down to your pillow at two and your alarm’s ringing in three hours. But, it’s my own fault for going out.”

“Sometimes the situation calls for shots,” Dany laughed. The corners of her eyes crinkled, and suddenly, she looked five years younger, less stressed. “I know I found it a challenge to leave my bed this morning; probably wouldn’t have if there wasn’t a deal happening today. But hey, girls just wanna have fun, right?”

“Right,” Sansa echoed, her eyes transfixed on Dany. She blinked and cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’ve already kept you in here forever, sorry. That’ll be three-fifty, please.”

Dany’s brows flew up in surprise as she fished for a five-dollar note from her purse. “Three-fifty? You’re sure this was a large?” She handed the money over. “Keep the change, please.”

Sansa huffed, amused, and dropped the change into their tip jar. “We like to keep our prices decent. Helps that it’s just two people helming the place – less expenses, you know.”

“Just two?” Dany looked around the café, whistling. “Looks amazing for a place that’s being kept up by a duo. You must’ve worked had for this.”

Sansa shrugged, thinking back to the crying and hair-pulling and panicked phone calls to Margaery after a third consecutive breakdown at two in the morning. “Yeah, something like that,” she said aloud. “But, you know, it’s ours.”

“I get that,” Dany said, nodding slowly. She sipped her tea, her expression forming into pleasant surprise. “I’ll make sure to stop by again sometime,” she told Sansa, raising her cup in salute.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Sansa said, smiling to herself. She couldn’t explain the quiet feeling simmering in her chest, warm and new. When Dany was about to open the front door to step out, she added, “Hope the deal goes well!”

The smile Dany threw over her shoulder felt positively radiant.

 

*

 

“Are you kidding me?” Margaery said to the phone, her voice just the right amount of strained that Sansa knew, without having heard the rest of the conversation, that this wasn’t too serious.

She dropped her bag on the floor with a thud and made her way over to the couch, flopping down on her back with her feet hanging over the side. She picked the remote and began to flip through the channels half-heartedly, before settling on a cooking show.

“—can’t believe this,” Margaery said, and sighed. Sansa glanced at her; she was pressing the bridge of her nose between her fingers, her eyes pressed shut. “For _once_ , can you listen to me instead of—no, don’t type that into Google, you don’t want that on your search history, for God’s sake.”

Sansa smiled to herself, turning back to the television. They were making parmesan chicken with roasted vegetables. Sansa made a note to herself to look the recipe up later and use it if it wasn’t too expensive. Not that she was too short on cash, but it was always smarter to save for later. You never knew what could happen.

Margaery began pacing around the living room. “Why would you say that?” She asked, sounding incredulous. “What kind of garbage—no, trust me, that is the _last_ thing you should’ve said. Just—okay, take a deep breath and start from the beginning. What happened _before_ he told you to go fuck yourself on a cactus and stop being an insensitive asshole?”

Loras and Renly, it felt like to Sansa, acted like they’d been pulled straight from a low budget daytime soap opera and inserted into the real world. The two of them had been a whirlwind office romance turned on-again-off-again drama, followed by something quite real and tangible which had developed into engaged with the intention of marriage, which in turn had become… this. They fought and argued, and argued and fought, but somehow, they always pulled through.

Sansa was, somewhere deep in her subconscious, sort of jealous. She wasn’t sure she’d ever have the kind of relationship where she could tell her partner to go fuck a cactus without doing some serious damage to their bond.

Then, she wasn’t sure she’d ever have a relationship, period. Her record wasn’t the prettiest: it dated back to Joffrey and his sadistic undertones in high school, an affair with the twice-her-age Sandor in college and the brief, regrettable and drunken one-off _thing_ with the creep Petyr before Sansa had realised that it might just be that she was more interested in girls, after all.

And now. Now, she looked at her best friend from her teenage years, and her heart did weird stuff like ache and beat fast. Now, she dreamed of kissing Margaery and holding her hand. Now, she sometimes felt her throat close up from how much she felt all at once, and how unfair in hindsight it all seemed to be.

When people said that love was the greatest thing in the world, they’d clearly never stood on the shores of unrequited feelings. Because it wasn’t the greatest thing in the world – it was just painful and lonely.

Margaery stopped her pacing abruptly, her eyes flying open. “What?” She asked sharply. “Are you really that dense? Of _course_ you don’t tell your fiancé and husband-to-be that his brothers are—no, I know that you’re right, Loras, I’ve met them, but just because something is true doesn’t mean you should say it aloud.”

“Tell him I said hi,” Sansa called out from the couch.

Margaery shot a brief smile in her direction. “Sansa says hi – Loras says hi back to you, and he hopes that you’re sleeping alright— _no_ , you’re not going to come over, you’re going to apologise to Renly for being a dick, and you’re going to do it right now.”

The phone call went on for several more minutes, during which Margaery and Loras seemed to argue semantics over which was a better way of saying you were sorry, flowers or chocolate. They settled on chocolate – _“flowers whittle and die, just like your passion will if you don’t go make amends”_ – and Margaery hung up, groaning loudly.

“They’re fighting again?” Sansa asked idly. She sat up to make room for Margaery, who settled down next to her and pressed her forehead against Sansa’s shoulder, hugging her arm.

“Mmh,” Margaery hummed. Sansa could feel her breathing against her skin, and swallowed. “It’s so stupid, too. I swear, most of the time they act like children.”

“Well, that’s men for you.”

Margaery tilted her head so that it was her temples against Sansa’s arm, and laughed. “I know,” she said. “I wonder when they’ll grow up.”

“I wouldn’t put too much stock on it.” Sansa flipped the channel to a sports channel – a tennis match was on, Denmark versus Croatia. “Everything went fine at the café today. Not too many customers, but one said that she’ll stop by again, so that’s something.”

“You were that charming?” Margaery asked, clearly amused. “My, Sansa. You’re turning into a real flirt.”

Sansa shook her head slightly, smiling. “Not after Petyr. Thanks, but no thanks. And in case, I doubt she meant it. You know how people say stuff just to be polite? I’m pretty sure it was just that.”

“Mmh, I don’t know.” Margery tightened her hold on Sansa’s arm, pinching her skin lightly. “I think someone’s got an admirer.”

Sansa laughed. “Well, I think someone’s wrong,” she protested. “I hardly doubt my hungover persona made any kind of positive impact on her.”

“I think it’s charming.”

“I think not.”

“Well, in any case, relationships are doomed. Just stray away from love and you’ll be better off – I know I do,” Margaery finished; she had a way of speaking which made it clear whenever she thought that a conversation was over, or at least when it should’ve been.

Sansa was too exhausted to continue. She buried herself deeper into the cushions, thinking about Dany, her freckles and violet eyes and soft voice, and she let Margaery wrap her fingers tighter around her heart and squeeze it dry, one minute, one hour, one day at a time.

 

 _Part II – or, how she became_  
_a hurricane_  
_rolling in and rolling out, thundering_  
_all the while, and how they both_  
_fell prey to her winds_  
_becoming a tangled mess_  
_of love and hurt_

_When you look at me,_ Margaery wondered, _do you see what I see?_

Did Sansa see the flaws in her external core which had been chipped away, slowly, throughout life, by people who wanted for her to bleed and hurt? Did she notice the weight of her life on her shoulders, tampering with her posture, pushing her down? Did she notice all the flaws Margaery herself glared at every morning through the reflection of the mirror?

Did she see the love Margaery tried so carefully to hide away under layers of jabs and aloofness?

Sansa broke into laughter, and Margaery glanced away from her, turning back to organising the shelves. She switched the places of two tea mixes, then looked at their labels for a while with a frown and switched them back around.

She couldn’t concentrate on anything, it seemed, because of Sansa. It seemed that most of the time, she was the root cause for Margaery’s problems, whether she did it on purpose or not.

Sansa had been chatting to a customer, all smiles and easy laughter, and Margaery very decidedly was not jealous. Even if said customer was gorgeous, with her white hair and perfect teeth, smiling right at Sansa like she was the most precious thing in the world – which she was, but Margaery didn’t want _her_ to know that.

She fluttered over behind Sansa and placed her hand on the small of her back, tilting her head towards the customer. “Hi,” she greeted, smiling. “What can I get you?”

“Oh,” Sansa laughed, glancing at Margaery. “Sorry, we just got to talking. This is Dany.”

“Hi.” Dany raised a hand in greeting. The corners of her eyes were crinkled. “Dany, nice to meet you.”

“Margery,” she said and extended her free hand over. Dany shook it. “Tea? Coffee? Something colder?”

“In this weather?” Sansa asked, amused. “It’s freezing outside, Marg.”

Dany shrugged. “I work in the next building over, so not too outrageous of a suggestion. But I’m more of a tea person. What was it that I had the other week – seasonal mix?”

Sansa nodded. “Yep. Was it good?”

“Oh, perfect.” Dany glanced at the menu. “But I think I’ll try something else, today. Any recommendations?” She turned her curious gaze to Margaery, who froze with a small smile on her face.

Dany was gorgeous, in every sense of the word. She was wearing a black suit, tailored specifically to her figure it seemed, with pearl earrings. She reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and Margaery noticed her impeccable, deep blue nail polish. She was faintly aware of her hand still resting against Sansa’s back, and her heart beating in her chest, and of Dany looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered—

Margaery swallowed. “The winterberry tea is excellent,” she managed. “We have a February discount on it.”

“We do?” Sansa asked, shooting her a look.

“Yes,” Margaery said. She bristled slightly and withdrew her hand, trying to force her smile to look natural. “Did I forget to mention it? Twenty percent discount for a large-sized winterberry tea, for this month only.”

Sansa frowned slightly. She looked unfairly adorable. “You didn’t mention that to me,” she said, sounding the slightest bit cross. But then her frown smoothened out in an instant, and she shrugged. “Okay, well, in that case, I’d recommend the winterberry as well. It’s really good.”

Dany glanced between the two of them, looking mildly amused. “I’ll have that, then. Large, please.”

Before Margaery could lift a finger, Sansa turned around and got to work. Margaery stayed by the counter, trapped under Dany’s imploring looks.

“Sansa told me this café was your project?” Dany asked after a short silence, sounding genuinely curious. “Have you always wanted to do something like this?”

“Not always,” Margaery admitted. “I wanted to do business, follow my father’s footsteps, that sort of a thing. But then I met Sansa in high school, and she told me that she’d always wanted a café of her own, so I thought, why not? I can still do business, and now I also get to spend more time with my best friend, so it’s a win-win, really.”

“I see.” Dany glanced at Sansa, smiling. “I suppose she has that kind of an influence, then?”

Margaery’s throat felt tight. “On some people,” she said cautiously. “She’s not aware of it herself, but she certainly has charm.”

Dany’s eyes slid back towards Margaery. She tilted her head in a considering way, her gaze warm and intruding at the same time. “I think she knows,” she said quietly. “Don’t you?”

Before Margaery could open her mouth to answer, Sansa returned, handing a take-away cup of steaming tea over to Dany. She accidentally brushed Margaery’s shoulder with the back of her hand; Margery’s skin tingled from the contact.

Dany took the tea with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much. Two-eighty, right? Keep the rest.”

Margaery raised a brow, taking the money Dany. “Quick math,” she said, impressed. “You said you work in the next building over?”

“Finance,” Dany explained. “Boring as all hell, but it pays.” She glanced at her wrist watch, golden rimmed and decorated with pale jewels. “And I’m late. I’ll stop by again tomorrow, probably.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Sansa promised.

Margaery watched as Sansa looked at Dany’s retreating figure, something like admiration in her eyes, and knew that she was fucked.

 

*

 

The front door opened with an intruding creak, and someone made a hushing sound. Margaery was lying in her bed under the covers, her back to the door of her room. She tilted her head slightly towards the sound. The room around her was dark and the blinds were drawn shut, blocking the light coming from the streets. She coughed, a horrible hacking sound, and curled further in on herself, wrapping the blanket tighter around her.

She’d come down with the flu two days prior. The fever had gone down already, but it had left her sick and feeble, and bound to her bed. Sansa had graciously offered to man the café whilst Margaery took the time to get better, which Margaery was grateful for, but it didn’t help the fact that she felt awful about missing work. And Sansa. And her _life_.

The front door closed. Margaery could hear Sansa’s nervous giggling, and frowned. The sound was followed by a familiar voice asking quietly, “Where do I put my coat?”

Margery froze, her eyes trained on the door of her room. Her stomach felt pitless suddenly, her chest empty. It couldn’t have been—but it was. Her toes curled from nerves as she looked away and at the wall in front of her, staring at the cracks.

There were sounds of people taking their shoes off in the hallway. The floor creaked as Sansa and Dany made their way down the short hallway, still laughing, still giggling.

Margaery could hear her door being pushed open slightly, could feel Sansa’s eyes staring at her back. She hoped that Sansa would come in and flip the lights on, tell her that they had a guest over and that they could all have tea in the kitchen and watch some reality TV. She didn’t move from her spot, didn’t dare to – and after a few seconds, Sansa closed the door.

“Shh,” Sansa whispered. “Marg is sick, I think she’s sleeping.”

“I can be quiet,” Dany whispered back, and Sansa laughed.

“I’m sure you can,” she said in a low tone, the tone that oftentimes accompanied Margaery’s dreams during the nights. Her stomach curled; she closed her eyes, pushing her face against her pillow. Maybe if she stayed like that for long enough she’d accidentally suffocate herself.

Their voices dissipated down the hallway and to Sansa’s bedroom, and were cut abruptly by the sound of something – or someone – being pushed against the rickety doorframe. Margaery flinched from the sound. She rolled over in bed and reached for the earphones tangled up on the floor, deciding to put a playlist on in the background to drown out everything else.

She didn’t have the right to pity herself; yet, when she scrolled through her phone, all the way to the end of her lists, she hesitantly clicked on the _break and loss_ playlist she’d made after she’d broken it off with her ex from high school.

At the time, it had seemed like the end of the world – like she’d never find love again, like she’d been The One, like they’d been destined to be together forever. It seemed silly now, when she hardly even remembered what she looked like, but at the time she couldn’t have forgotten even if she’d tried to.

Margaery put the playlist on shuffle and buried herself under her blankets, enveloped by the dark.

She couldn’t blame Sansa or Dany for anything, not when it was her own stupidity and her own damn emotions making her feel like this. Margaery had noticed (couldn’t have not seen it, even if she’d wanted to) that Dany had started to stop by more often the past few weeks. Of course, she’d noticed the flirting and the lingering looks and the casual touches. How could she not have?

But Margaery had thought, somehow, that it wasn’t going to lead to anything. That maybe Sansa was just playing some sort of a game, that maybe in reality she loved her and wanted her, and that maybe Dany…

It was silly, it was irrational, and Margaery thought herself a right proper idiot for not seeing what was right in front of her. She loved Sansa and she wanted Dany and somehow, she’d ended up by herself, listening to her teenage years’ heartbreak playlist like she was sixteen again.

 _Let them be happy_ , a voice whispered in the back of her mind. _When you play a game of love you either win, or your heart breaks. Now you’ve lost._

Margaery sighed, hugging herself. Her heart, she thought, had been doomed from the moment she’d realized she’d fallen head for heels for Sansa. At first, it had been a massive fucking mistake – because you don’t fall for straight girls. And then, it had been an even worse mistake – because you certainly don’t fall for queer girls who are so dense they don’t see the love that’s right in front of them, no matter how heavily telegraphed.

The song playing switched on to _Jenny_. Margaery bit her lip. She wasn’t a fucking teen anymore, she was an adult and she could handle her emotions better than this. She’d get out of bed and go to work, and she’d be happy for Sansa and Dany. She’d find someone else and forget about the hurt she was feeling now. Everyone would be happy, it would be _fine_.

But not right now. Right now, Margaery increased the volume on her phone and closed her eyes, trying in vain to fall asleep and, just for a while, forget.

 

 _Part III – or, how she_  
_becomes a final piece of_  
_an easy puzzle_  
_that none of them_  
_had the instructions for_

Dany lifted her feet on her desk, her ankles crossed, and sighed deeply.

She wasn’t sure what it was that she’d gotten herself into. After Drogo’s funeral, it had seemed like she’d never date again, much less fall in love – or even anything remotely close to it. Drogo had been her everything, and she’d been his world; everyone had told them they were rushing into marriage, but it had never seemed like that to her. And after the car crash, she’d thought that it would always be too soon, that his death would be too fresh of a wound, a wound that would never close or heal.

But it had healed. And now she was in the middle of a mess she’d helped to create. And what a mess it was, indeed.

Her phone binged with a new notification. Dany reached for her phone on the table and unlocked it, peering at the screen in the harsh office lighting.

**[Sansa, 3:45 pm] Hey. It’s me. I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight? Let me know.**

Dany blinked at the message, biting her lower lip.

Sansa was something new. Something Dany had been waiting for for a while now, a fresh start, as it were. She was beautiful, with her auburn hair and practical, yet fashionable clothes. She had a sweet adoration for the weirdest of books, which filled her bookshelves to the brim, some spilling over to the floor. She made excellent tea – and she made Dany laugh.

Dany had never realised how much she needed genuine laughter in her life before she’d lost Drogo.

Dany cared for Sansa quite a bit, she did. She thought she was smart, gorgeous, resourceful, kind. They worked well together, had now for a few weeks. They’d been on dates, they’d slept together, they’d held hands and made out and they were making their way towards _something._

But then there was the fact that Sansa was in love with Margaery.

Dany had known from the beginning that there was something there. Sansa had never mentioned it to her, but she hadn’t needed to – it was fairly obvious to anyone with eyes. She’d assumed it had been unrequited, until she’d seen the two of them together, and Margaery—

Well, it was fairly obvious that she was in love with Sansa, as well.

Dany had waited for something to unfold between them – before and after she’d gotten together with Sansa. She hadn’t wanted to push anything, but she’d quietly assumed that their budding relationship would be enough to bring Margaery to confess, or that Sansa would realize by being with her how much she really wanted to be with Margaery, or anything at all.

But alas, nothing had happened. And now here Dany was, falling for two girls who’d clearly fallen for each other, and _none_ of them were doing anything to fix the situation. So, it seemed that the responsibility would fall on Dany; if often did.

She shook her head and typed out a response to Sansa, her short nails clicking softly against the touch screen.

**[Dany, 3:48 pm] Sure, I’d love to. There’s something we need to talk about – could we meet at the café after closing? Are you working alone today?**

Dany put her feet down and the phone back on her desk. Nothing seemed less enticing to her right now than looking at numbers, but work was work. Work was what had saved her, after Drogo. She’d buried herself in finance, to the point where she’d begged for overtime shifts just so that she wouldn’t have to go back to an empty home and a lonely bed.

Eventually, her boss had taken her aside to ask her if everything was alright after she’d lost it at the office after staying awake for three days in a row. Dany knew she was fortunate to have such an understanding boss – instead of firing her on the spot, Helen had given her some paid time off, to take care of herself. She’d even sent some flowers over to brighten the house.

Despite how much Dany sometimes grew tired of finance, there was also something comforting about it.

Her phone buzzed against the desk.

**[Sansa, 3:50 pm] Ooh, something serious? I hope not. I’m working alone, yeah. Could be fun, if we had any clients, ever. I’ll close at six, see you then?**

Dany huffed in amusement.

**[Dany, 3:50 pm] Nothing serious. Well, depends on your definition of serious. It shouldn’t be, I don’t think. I’ll be there at six, love.**

She pressed send before she could change her mind. It wasn’t that serious. Then again, maybe it would be. Dany had no idea what Sansa thought, how open-minded she was, what she truly felt, how any of this was going to unfold, if it even was.

Her stomach coiled uncomfortably as Dany realized, belatedly, that his might just as well result in her being left alone.

She resumed her work, pushing the growing discomfort aside to the back of her mind.

 

*

 

The door was open when Dany pushed her way through inside the café with her shoulder, the bell clinging. The lights were still on, but the place was eerily silent and empty. Dany slowly unwrapped her scarf from around her neck and walked over to the counter. She propped herself up on it, facing the door.

The café reminded her a lot of both Sansa and Margaery. Their personalities were reflected in everything, from the colour choices to the way that things were organised. Dany thought it was lovely. The café felt like a second home, almost.

Dany stifled a yelp as a pair of hands sneaked their way around her waist, hugging her from behind. Sansa pressed her nose against the line of Dany’s back, sighing contently. Her hair tickled Dany’s skin, who smiled to herself, not moving.

“Hey,” Sansa greeted, her voice a little muffled. “How was work?”

“Work was fine,” Dany told her. “Same as always. Yours?”

Sansa shrugged; Dany could feel the motion of it. “Same as always,” she echoed. She let Dany turn around and moved her hands so that she was holding Dany’s thighs, looking up at her. “You said you wanted to talk?”

Dany’s heart was stammering in her chest. She could feel its beat against her skin, in her veins, everywhere. Sansa’s hands on her felt too warm on her. “Yeah,” she managed. “There’s something that we need to… that we should talk about. Something kind of important.”

Sansa quirked a brow. “Yes?”

“Well.” Dany cleared her throat. “Alright, so—I know you love Margaery.”

The sentence seemed to echo around the quiet café. Sansa let go of Dany, taking a small step back. She crossed her arms, frowning.

“No, I don’t,” she argued.

“Yeah, you do,” Dany said. She lifted a finger when Sansa opened her mouth to protest. “No, don’t. I know what love looks like, alright? I’m not blind.” She paused. “I’m not angry, either. Because… well. Because I like her, too.”

Sansa’s frown deepened. “Who doesn’t? She’s very likable.”

“No, I mean…” Dany sighed. “I mean, I _like_ her. In the same way that I like you. I like both of you. And I know that you like both me and Margaery. And I _also_ know that Margaery loves you, and I certainly hope that she likes me, as well. And I suppose I’m proposing some sort of a thing. With the tree of us.”

Sansa blinked at her, her frown now gone. Slowly, she took a step forward, standing between Dany’s legs. “What—” She paused, shaking her head. She looked down at the ground. “What do you mean, Margaery loves me?”

Dany brushed a strand of Sansa’s hair behind her hear, smiling a little. “It’s very obvious,” she told her. “I can see it in her eyes. And you yourself told me things have been weird between the two of you, lately – don’t you think she might just be jealous?”

“But…” Sansa glanced up at her, confused. “I thought she was jealous of you. Because it seemed pretty obvious to _me_ that she had a thing for you.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Dany huffed. “Then I suppose she might as well be jealous of both of us. But my point stands. I was hoping that either of you would figure this out, but since it’s not happening, I thought I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“So, what you’re saying is…” Sansa trailed off. Her hands found their way back to Dany’s legs.

“What I’m saying is, I like you both, you like us both, I think Margaery likes us both,” Dany reiterated. “And I think we could turn this into something that works for everyone. Because I’d wager Margaery isn’t feeling too good about the current arrangement, and neither are you. Don’t argue with me on this to make me feel better, okay – I know.”

Sansa looked past her, and out the window at the street with slightly glazed eyes. She was moving her hands up and down Dany’s legs absent-mindedly. Seconds stretched on as Dany waited for some kind of an answer, heart in her throat.

“Okay,” Sansa finally said. Her eyes locked with Dany’s. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. I thought I could make it work with you, that I’d eventually move past Margaery, but… but I haven’t. And it’s only hurt her, I guess, to see us together without her. I don’t want that.” She took Dany’s hands in hers. “I want you two.”

Dany’s face broke into a bright grin. “Next move – call Margaery. I think we need to have a small chat.”

 

*

 

The alarm clock went off with a loud blare, ringing around the apartment.

Sansa turned around in bed with a groan, and reached out to turn it off. She fumbled around the night stand until she found something which resembled the shape of her phone, and tapped blindly at the screen until the blaring stopped.

She remained still, with her eyes closed and one arm hanging off the side of the bed. She could feel Margaery’s arm wrapped around her stomach, their legs tangled together. Her left arm had gone numb from where she’d tried to reach out to brush her fingers against Dany’s shoulder. Reluctantly, she withdrew her arm and sat up, her feet touching the cold floor.

Dany’s face was pressed against the crook of Margaery’s neck, her arms wrapped around her. Margaery, in the absence of Sansa, rolled over towards Dany, sniffling quietly.

Sansa watched the two of them with a small smile playing on her lips. How’d she gotten so lucky as to be able to wake up next to the loves of her life every morning? To be treated to the sight of them having just gotten out of the shower; sweaty from the summer heat; angry about the news; smiling at Sansa with a look of pure innocence when she got home, their hair messed up and their shirts askew.

Sansa slipped quietly away from the bedroom, closing the door behind her.


End file.
